Categories
merit Poetry strength

My Alma Mater


The school I went

seems to be different

way back in the sixties

there were a freedom and a strictness

found with a lot of references

the no uniform code is one such

kept us in a board  and stretched

like butterflies with bright feathers

we went to school in all colours

no shoes  we wore but slippers alone

as our place  has a warm tone

our feet never perspired profusely

nor smelt  bad and felt  swanky

our hair was tightly plaited  into two

and ribbons were tied around  them

flowers were strewn together  in a string

adorned our hair in a beautiful swing

the teachers were kind and  effective

gave us a lot of space to turn reflective

they  taught us not only the subjects

also made us understand the objects around

my alma mater  was an excellent place to study

extends stillSchool an invasive knowledge and wisdom steady

am greatly indebted to the school of great merit

made me a woman of strength with  wholesome credit.

Categories
harbinger Poetry

Blows His Own Trumpet.


Regret what you have said in rash

not his cup of tea at all

he speaks with a shout and a dash

always his way in a call.

Goes he with a smile and tease

when he himself is to be fleeced

behaves in a manner most  egoistic

never he has shown stoic.

He is with so many defaults

harbinger of countless faults

poses himself to be  godly

a blower of his own trumpet  blows his trumpet.sadly..

Categories
forgetfulness humour. Poetry

The Tea I Prepare


The duties I forget

the compulsive ones  most

that being the milk on the stove

it is the day to day routine

I sit reading through with concentration

or gazing through the window more concentrated

while the music  in the background plays rhapsodically

the milk boils and boils many a time

I sit unmoved in my place  lost in myself

the burnt smell emanates slowly

that is the alert generally  cautions me

I rush to see my milk  on the stove

there is no milk,  not even a drop

the  milk pan almost charred  lies burnt

this is not on one or two occasions

but being throughout my life  with few exceptions

I look up the attic straining my neck

see  milk pans in a row  shapeless and black

the milk bill escalates  two folds and three folds

I stand answerable to my husband

who frowns at me  but lets me off  with that alone

as he is so fond of the tea milk pours over.I prepare all these days.

Categories
death. knell Poetry win

Heaven Forbid


Heaven forbid they say

yes it forbids in a wayHeaven forbid.

the trespasses and sins

committed with wins

gives you glory for a time

when the bell chimes

that of the death knell

the repentance comes in a swell

the thought  of Heaven bids

then soul  wants to get rid

cries out “Heaven Forbid.”